


25 Days of Poe-Mas

by AmeliaFriend



Category: Edgar Allan Poe's Murder Mystery Dinner Party (Web Series)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-01
Updated: 2016-12-25
Packaged: 2018-09-03 14:35:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 25
Words: 19,037
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8717662
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AmeliaFriend/pseuds/AmeliaFriend
Summary: More like '25 Days of Poe+Annabel+HG+Lenore+AssortedOthers-Mas', but that seemed a little bit too silly as a title.An assorted collection of Christmas / Winter-Themed one shots.





	1. AnnaPoe - One Horse Open Sleigh Ride

**Author's Note:**

> This sort of got away from me, and I’m not sure where it went – but I hope you enjoy!

 

On paper, it was the perfect idea.

In practice, a little less so.

* * *

A simple horse drawn sleigh ride through the snow, to try and ease Annabel back into life (or after-life, as it may be) beyond the Poe estate.

What could go wrong?

Turns out – many things could go wrong.

* * *

For starters – wearing a cloak when one is only partially corporeal can indeed be challenging, and after the fourth failed attempt to leave the house wearing the beautiful fur-lined article of clothing, Annabel decided to leave it behind – it’s not as though _ghosts_ can get cold.

* * *

Then, when the pair (Edgar bundled up in at least five layers, Annabel wearing nothing more than her dress) reached the sleigh, she was immediately entranced by the deep brown horse attached to the front. Making her way towards it, she reached out one hand slowly – as to pet it – when the animal (whose senses were far more attuned to ghostly signatures than that of a human) whinnied and did it’s best to rear away from her. Annabel hurried away, back into the sleigh where Edgar was waiting, slightly upset that she had scared the poor horse so.

* * *

And then they were off.

If you discounted the funny looks the pair received for Annabel’s lack of layers, the first few moments were quite pleasant indeed – a thick blanket across their laps, sat close enough that Annabel’s dress is brushing against Edgar’s outermost layer.

* * *

Almost fifteen minutes in, she shivered slightly against the wind – in her effort to remain corporeal, it was harsh against her skin, even if she couldn’t feel the cold.

“Here,” Edgar tried to offer, pushing the blanket towards her.

She obviously refused, pushing it (gently) right back. “I can neither get cold nor catch a cold. Why do I need the blanket more than you? You could catch your d-.” She cut herself short, neither of them particularly willing to use the ‘d’ word since the events of _that_ night.

The ride stopped suddenly – a tree had fallen in the path ahead of them, and there was no obvious way around it. The driver made his way down to check if there was something to be done, or if they would have to simply return back to the start point, while the two passengers sat in a comfortable silence in the back.

At least, until something catches Annabel’s attention out of the corner of her eye.

 “Did you see that?” She asks him, a thread of exhilaration in her voice.

“See what?” Edgar replies, but it’s too late, as she has already started to climb down from the sleigh and make her way towards that which caught her eye. “Annabel, wait!” He makes to follow her.

“Come _on_ Edgar,” she calls, moving quickly ahead – her footsteps unhindered by the deep snow due to her not-quite corporeal state.

Edgar – being quite corporeal indeed – trudged behind as fast as he could with the snow reaching almost to his knees.

It’s rather sudden when he goes head first into a snow pile – he trips over a root hidden by the deep snow, and let out a short shriek that would be more suited to Annabel than it would Edgar.

Still headfirst in the snow pile, he lets out a deep sigh, and makes no attempt to stand and remove himself from the snow.

“Edgar?” Annabel asks as she moves back to him. “Are you okay?” There’s an edge to her voice, as if she wishes to laugh, but will not insult him by laughing at his misfortune.

“…No.” He replies, still making no attempt to move.

“Come on Edgar,” she smiles, becoming corporeal for a moment to help him back to his feet. “Let’s go back to the sleigh.”

“But what about your, uh, the, um…?” He struggled to find a word to describe the ‘thing’ that Annabel had become suddenly enamoured with, whilst simultaneously trying to remove the worst of the snow still clinging to his body.

“It’s unimportant. Let’s go home.” She takes him by the arm, and leads him back to the sleigh they had left behind.

* * *

“I had a wonderful time Edgar,” she tells him, while brushing the last remnants of snow from his shoulders and hair, as they return to the Poe house aboard the sleigh. “We _must_ do this again.”

His response was a bare flicker of a smile, before he shifted in his seat – uncomfortable in himself once more. “You still looks cold,” he tells her. “I will not deny you the blanket Annabel.”

He tries to push the blanket back around her, but she refuses gently.

“And I can still neither get cold nor catch a cold. You can.”

“I don’t get colds,” he mutters, followed shortly by sharp sneeze. “That wasn’t a cold.”

“Of course not,” she smiles, obviously just humouring him.

* * *

 

“I’m not sick,” he insists, his assertion only slightly undermined by the sneezing fit.

“Of course you’re not,” Annabel agrees. “More soup?”


	2. Wellenore - Mistletoe

The first time it happens, they’re leaving the attic after a day of working on HG’s various time travel gadgets. (His first success – in making his way back to the Poe household, and to her – had been partially accidental, it turns out, and further successes were proving more difficult for the inventor and his Lady Ghost.)

There is a sprig of mistletoe hung over the doorway as they enter the main portion of the house.

It’s HG who notices it first, his eyes going wide as he stops, just short of underneath the small plant. There’s a slight smile from Lenore, when she spots it.

“Mistletoe,” she remarks – in a voice that would appear casual to a passing onlooker (not that there were any).

 “Actually,” he stammers, pointedly looking anywhere except Lenore’s bright eyes. “There are a number of interesting myths surrounding mistletoe. In Norse times it was considered a sign of peace and friendship. The druids used it in many different ceremonies, and it’s considered good luck in parts of…”

Rising onto her tiptoes, she kisses him shortly, interrupting his spiel – HG suddenly blushing a faint shade of pink when she pulls away.

“In parts of Europe.” He finished. “There’s always that tradition as well.” He muttered quietly, his eyes staring at his own shoes.

* * *

The next day there is a sprig of mistletoe hanging outside the library as Lenore and HG pass in opposite directions – him to the attic, her to Annabel for ‘Girl Time’ (that was desperately important – Lenore had informed HG on multiple occasions. Annabel needed _a lot_ of help being a ghost, and Edgar was no use what so ever).

There’s a flicker of confusion across his forehead – again? – he appears to be thinking.

And then he kisses her anyway – only the tips of his ears turning bright red this time, which could be considered a definite improvement.

“It is a common tradition after all,” he informs her as he pulls away, as if it were new knowledge – before walking away, back to the inventions that he had been planning to work on.

“I’m well aware,” she calls after him, arms crossed and a bemused smile on her face.

* * *

It’s their sixth kiss (or rather, their sixth period of kissing) under the fourth different sprig of mistletoe (this one _inside_ their attic) when HG remarks.

“You’re the one who’s been putting mistletoe up everywhere.” It wasn’t a question.

“Well, it wasn’t Annabel or Edgar.” She replied quickly, before going in for another kiss.

“Why?”

“You were ignoring my other attempts to kiss you,”

“Actually…” he tried to say, before being cut off by yet another kiss.

It was actually quite an enjoyable way to shut him up.


	3. AnnaPoe - Carollers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Carol singers aren't a thing near where I live, but according to Google (the great and powerful) this is a plausible scenario.  
> I hope you enjoy!

Edgar looks up and raises an eyebrow.

“What is that rapping at my chamber door?”

“One, still a doorbell. Two, how about you answer it and find out?” Lenore snarks, flipping over a page of her book, as she mostly ignores her … most unique housemate.

Edgar narrows his eyes, but rises anyway and makes his way towards the front door.

 

Opening it, a group of six identically dressed people begin to sing a Christmas carol, and he realises his mistake just too late to politely close the door.

“No.”

He goes to close the door anyway - when Annabel appears by his side and (unfortunately – for Edgar, at least) she is enthralled, widening the door once again.

 

Whilst they had stopped singing when Edgar tried to shut the door on them, they quickly recovered and began their carol anew.

To most onlookers, they were pleasant singers and it was not a horrible experience to wait through. (Edgar was not most onlookers, and it was definitely a horrible experience to wait through.)

Finally, (finally, finally, finally – or so Edgar thought) they finished their song, and smiled serenely – obviously waiting for something.

Edgar remained staring at them in uncomfortable silence.

“That was so wonderful,” Annabel enthused (quite sincerely) “Hand them a mince pie Edgar,”

“Why don’t you hand them the mince pies,” he replied without remembering about the implications of Annabel’s new ghost status on her ability to pick things up.

“A pie, Edgar,” she repeated, more firmly this time.

Edgar sighed and retrieved the pies that were kept near the front door for casual visitors. (Because apparently that was a thing Annabel did.)

“Mince pies,” he offers. With an expression that is probably intended as a smile, but comes off as if he had been kidnapped and forced to serve mince pies to random strangers that come and sing at the front door.

 

Mince pies accepted, the carol singers turn to leave, and Annabel waves kindly - before Edgar closes the door fully behind them.

“I miss being able to close doors.” She remarked mildly, “And I liked them.” She smiled, pressing a chaste kiss to his cheek.

A preening expression fluttered briefly across Edgar’s face, before he schooled his emotions into something more sombre (and usual for him).

Annabel hid a bemused smile behind her hand, as she returns to the activity she had left behind.

* * *

It’s the next day, and Edgar and Lenore are once again sat at opposite ends of the table, while Edgar eats his evening meal.

The doorbell rings sharply through the room, and Lenore looks up from her magazine to ask, “Edgar, can you get the…”

He doesn’t even look up from his meal, when he interrupts.

“No.”

 


	4. Poe, Annabel, Lenore & HG - Snowball Fight

Surprisingly (or, unsurprisingly – depending on your point of view), it was Lenore who threw the first snow ball.

It’s Annabel who laughs first though, when it hits Edgar squarely in the chest – instead of the intended target of one HG Wells.

Retaliation was only to expected, but when his ball missed her by almost two feet, and HG didn’t even try his snort of amusement (which earned him a snowball to the face – or would have done, had he not been, you know, incorporeal).

It isn’t until Annabel throws her first ball (she was trying to aim at Lenore, but with her difficulties going corporeal, she ended up dropping it on herself – multiple times), that it can be classed as a fight.

(Later, it won’t be referred to as ‘a fight’ but as the ‘Great Snowball Fight of *mumble, mumble*’ – which says something about the scale of it, considering there were only four of them)

It’s still good-natured fun for a moment though – until three snowballs hit Lenore simultaneously, and she attacked with all her ‘ghostly tricks’ that Annabel and HG hadn’t quite grasped just yet.

And then it devolved into all-out war – with allegiances splitting almost as fast as they were formed – no one truly knowing what side they were on at that moment, and just attacking anyone they felt like.

“Where is your ghostly pride Annabel?” Lenore calls, after a particularly well aimed ball hits her in the ear whilst she’s corporeal.

The red-head in question lets out a laugh as she hides behind a tree, dodging retaliatory balls from both Lenore and HG.

* * *

But, eventually all things must end, even those as enjoyable as a snowball fight – and so it was that the three ghosts made their way into the house, chatting amiably about who hit the others the most, and who avoided being hit the most, with a certain Edgar silently stalking up in the rear.

While a portion of his silence could be attributed to his being Edgar, a not insignificant portion must be attributed to the fact that he was covered head to toe in the remnants of snowballs.

With the final fifteen minutes of the fight being ghosts versus the still-living, he had not stood a chance, so while there may not have been a winner of the Great Snowball Fight of *mumble, mumble* – there was definitely a loser in Edgar Allan Poe.

 

Annabel takes him by the arm and leads him to sit with them by the fire.

A loser in regards to Snowball Fights, anyway.


	5. AnnaPoe - Mistletoe, V2

It’s an accident that they get caught under it – of course it is, Annabel Lee would never purposefully lead Edgar Allan Poe a route she knows that Lenore has forgotten to remove mistletoe from. She’s a good person, after all.

 

It happens during their twice daily journey to the kitchen for meals – Edgar to eat, and Annabel to watch (and remember what it was like to eat – she misses it sometimes)

 

It’s not that Edgar refuses– but when he is half mad in the creation of his latest work, convincing him that activities such as eating take on lesser importance.

Lenore got around it by leaving food on his desk, and he would eat without even noticing that he was eating (who says you can’t make a horse drink – you just have to make them think it was their own idea).

Annabel, however, is the only one who can make him leave his study, and that is why she took over on the ‘Edgar-Feeding’ duties. For all her lack of ‘normal’ ghostly skills, her ‘Edgar-Handling’ skills more than make up for it.

 

They’re passing through the doorway to the Land of Food, and there it is, above them.

(Completely accidentally, of course.)

A small sprig of mistletoe, and all the traditions that it encompassed.

Annabel spots it first (not that she knew it was already there, of course) but Edgar sees it not long after.

His eyes flicker upwards, and (although he doesn’t speak) Annabel can almost hear the gears in his brain grind to a sudden halt, as he recognises the plant above them.

 

Edgar leans in – stammering with his movements, even while he was (mostly) silent in his voice – and presses a gentle kiss to her cheek, before trying to move back.

Annabel grips his arm as he tries to step away, pulling him in again – this time for an actual kiss.

* * *

“Did… did you put the mistletoe up?”

“No, I think that was Lenore.”

“Lenore has no need of mistletoe. She has no romantic interest.”

“What do you think HG is still doing here, Edgar?”

“Lenore and … HG? I never would have guessed.”

 


	6. Wellenore - Christmas Sweater

“What. Is. That?” Lenore’s voice was flat when she saw HG for the first time that evening.

To explain, when a ghost is ‘born’, they are stuck with what they were wearing at the moment of their … passing.

Lenore knows of an unfortunate fellow who passed and then came back after falling asleep in the bath.

He doesn’t get many visitors. But this is digressing, back to the point.

Although they never needed to change their clothes, they could add extra layers (with a little effort). Effort that HG felt necessary to put in to wear a – quite frankly garish – sweater

It’s green and gold and sparkly in the wrong places, with what looks like reindeer and snowmen drawn by toddlers.

It’s horrible.

“It’s a Christmas sweater. It is considered festive.”

“That is considered an insult to fashion. And life.” She deadpans, clearly unimpressed with her – with _HG’s_ fashion choices.

“It is actually quite comfortable, if you would try it on.”

“I would _never_ dream of it. And I don’t even dream.”

“In fact,” he looked at her with amusement in his eyes, “I would wager that you will wear this sweater before the day is out.”

“I would die again before I even thought about wearing … that.”

“In fact, I bet that…” He glances down the corridor, it was abandoned but he still whispered softly into Lenore’s ear anyway.

Her eyes widened, and then she smirked – feeling confident in her chances.

HG takes a step backwards, and tells her. “If you win I will get rid of the sweater.”

“If I win, you will burn that Abomination.” She mutters, only mostly under her breath.

“But,” he continued, as if she hasn’t interrupted, “If I win – you have to wear it. For a whole day.”

Her eyes narrow. “For an hour.”

“For three hours.”

“For three hours.” She concedes, “But I’m not going to lose.” She informs him confidently.

                *=*=*

HG wins.

Lenore is Not Happy™.

 

But she agreed (even if she only did it because she was sure she was going to win), and she takes her ‘punishment’ with all the stoic-ness of a world weary ghost.

She can almost deal with having to wear … _that_ , but the fact the HG doesn’t even try to hide his amusement, makes it almost impossible to cope.

 

She’s _Lenore the Lady Ghost_ , fashion is literally her ‘thing’ and has been since the moment she was born.

This is hard on her.

                *=*=*

Two hours pass, and apparently watching Lenore pretend she’s unbothered by wearing the ‘Abomination’ gets less amusing with time – because HG’s attention has been switched to whichever contraption he’s tinkering with this hour.

 

She has to admit though (only in her head – never to HG. He’d not let her live it down. Like ever.) if she ignores the design, it is actually quite comfortable – not at all itchy, but like a big, warm hug from someone she likes.

And also it (maybe, might, just a little bit, a lot) smell like him.

A scent that’s oil and metal and something underneath that’s just undeniably HG.

Maybe wearing his sweater for three hours wasn’t the worst thing in the world.

She catches sight of it in the mirror, and shuddered internally.

It was still totes ugly though.

                *=*=*

“Is that … fashionable these days?” Edgar asked confused, as he watched Lenore walk past wearing a green and gold sweater - which looked unsightly, even to him.

When no one answered, he looked around, before remembering he was alone.

He shrugged. “Fashion is truly mysterious,” he said to no one at all, before he returned to his business.

 

 


	7. AnnaPoe - Snowmen

It was Annabel’s idea.

(Most things are – but Edgar likes her ideas, likes doing what makes her happy.)

There had been another fall of snow overnight – fresh and untrodden, and Annabel had decided what would make her happy would be to make a snowman.

And Edgar can never say no, when it would make her happy to acquiesce.

 

The first ball of snow is definitely the most difficult – heavy and unwieldly, especially as it comes close to the ideal size.

But with the pair working together, it comes together quicker than Annabel would have imagined on her own – and soon enough she has a sphere of snow almost as tall as Edgar’s waist, and certainly taller than hers.

 

One down, two to go – she thinks silently.

She’s collecting a small handful of snow to start the second ball, when she can almost see the idea light up behind his eyes, and then as he disappears around the corner with the hurried statement of – “Don’t follow me, it’s a surprise,”, she just shakes her head, and waits for him to return.

She works on her own snow creation in the meantime though – she invited Edgar along because she thought he would enjoy it, not because she was incapable of creating a beautiful snow man on her own.

And because he hadn’t left his room in almost a week (and the house in far longer) – and everyone knew she was the only one who could get him to do, well … _anything_.

 

The second ball is almost half the size of the first, and while being easier to manoeuvre than the first – it is still no easy feat, and she is proud of herself when at last it sits upon the first.

She’s even prouder when she places the third ball – while smaller still, it sits up far higher, and she accidentally destroys two balls by dropping them before it sits correctly in its place as her snowman’s head.

 

She hears Edgar’s voice as she works – a stream of consciousness aimed at no one in particular, and almost certainly accidental – but it calms her to know he’s safe, even just a few metres away from her.

(It terrifies her sometimes – that he’s still human, that the horrible things she – and Lenore and HG – is safe from can still harm him. But killing him to turn him into a ghost as well would be counterproductive, so she takes a deep breath, and pretends it doesn’t scare her as much as it does.)

 

The next step is the fun part – stones for his eyes and his mouth, long twigs for his arms, assorted nothings for a sparse head of hair atop the highest sphere.

And she makes him into a ‘real person’ – using her garden findings to turn three plain balls of snow, into something resembling a real person. She likes watching things ‘come to life’ in this way – Annabel knows she not much of an author, especially next to Edgar and HG and their other friends, but she’s creative in other ways. Goodness knows, Edgar has killed every plant he has ever owned. Even the plants that she ignores thrive under her care – it’s amusing, really.

 

Finally, she’s finished, and she takes a step back.

But there’s something missing. She tilts her head slightly, as she tries to understand _what_ is missing, what is wrong – when it comes to her. She removes the thick scarf (that Edgar insists she wear, despite having no need of it – she thinks he sometimes forgets that she’s already dead. To be fair – sometimes _she_ forgets that she’s already dead, so he can be forgiven) and places it around the white neck of her snow creation.

 

There.

Perfect.

Now – back to Edgar.

 

He’s gone a particularly long time without talking by this time, when she asks – just loud enough that he’ll hear her around the corner. “Edgar, are you finished?”

“Almost. Not yet. Don’t look.” His voice is frantic, but no more than when he is in the grips of one of his writing frenzies, so Annabel decides that it cannot harm to leave him to his own devices a little while longer.

“I’m not looking,” she reassures him, adding the finishing touches to her snowman.

A few seconds passed before he called out for the final time.

“You can come and see now.”

 

She made her way around the corner and immediately stopped when she caught sight of it

“Oh Edgar,” she covered her mouth as she stared at what he had built from the snow – her eyes wide, her face expressionless.

“Is there something wrong? Do you not like it?”

She moved her hand down from her face, revealing a smile that almost threatened to split her face. She was motionless for a moment, before a laugh from somewhere deep inside her took over.

“Why are you laughing?” He asked, honestly confused at her amusement.

 

Her eyes flickered from him back to his creation – and her laughter started again.

Because there, proudly stood before them, a counterpoint to Annabel’s snowman.

A proud.

A magnificent.

Snow.

Raven.


	8. Poe, Annabel, Lenore & HG - Decorating the House

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> With literally less than 5 minutes to spare - I get this finished and posted in time!! Go me!  
> Also - prior to this chapter, HG both invented Christmas lights and then left them somewhere to get tangled in a ball. (He invented a microwave - this is totally within his capabilities)

“Why are we even doing this?” Lenore asked, looking at the large ball of tangled lights that Edgar, Annabel and HG were working to unravel – and then took a large mouthful of wine instead of helping them.

“Because it’s festive.”

“That cannot be your answer to every question for the entirety of December, HG.”

He doesn’t answer, just looks at her with the faint glimmer of a smirk.

Lenore drinks again. She has a feeling she’ll be drinking a lot this evening.

“Well I think it’s fun, and these lights are so interesting.” Annabel tells them decisively.

“You think everything’s fun. You spent three hours reading a dictionary once, because ‘learning about words is so exciting! Isn’t it, _Edgar_.’” Lenore mimicked her voice and fluttered her eyelashes a comical amount as she over-acted Annabel’s mannerisms.

“So,” she points at HG, “you’re doing it because it’s festive.” She points at Annabel, “You’re doing it because it’s fun,” She points at herself, “I’m _not_ doing it,”. She turns her finger to Edgar, “Why are you doing it?”

“Because, it’s nice to make something look beautiful for people.” Edgar answered – not looking at her while he tried to unpick a particularly densely packed section of the lights. “And you could help with this.”

“That sounds like something Annabel told you to say. And no, I couldn’t. Besides, you don’t even like people.”

“Yes, I do. In fact, some of my best friends are people …” His voice trailed off as his mind caught up to his mouth.

Lenore shook her head.

“Edgar, _I_ like people. You hate people.”

“I like people,” he gestures vaguely at them, (well – mostly at Annabel to be fair). “I just might not like _people_ ,” he gestures vaguely at the window, and thus all the people in the world beyond.

“You just gestured at the rest of the world.”

“It was not the rest of the world.”

“Yes. It was. And what about that time you didn’t leave the house for a y…”

“A month. I didn’t leave the house for a _month_. And I was busy. Writing. Because, unlike you, I have a job.”

“I have a job! I totally have a job.”

“Oh yeah. What’s your job? What’s your job Lenore?”

“Looking after you. That’s a full time job. In fact, …”

“Children!” Annabel raised her voice ever so slightly, cutting off the start of Lenore’s rant – and the pair slumped back in their seats.

“She started it,” Edgar muttered, only half under his breath.

Lenore’s eyes widened and she leaned forward to say something in return when HG piped up – “I think that’s everything detangled. Should we go outside and put them up?”

“Outside? No one said anything about outside.”

“Well, where did you think we were going to hang all these lights Lenore?” Edgar asked, still slightly annoyed at his longest surviving (if you had a loose definition of the word – ‘surviving’) housemate.

                *=*=*

“Just hang the lights up Lenore,” Edgar was starting to get annoyed at Lenore’s lack of helpfulness – which was only amusing the original Lady Ghost more.

“But I’m having so much fun watching you guys. I know,” Lenore pretended to have an epiphany, “ _Edgar_ can float up to the roof, and hang up the lights.”

“I’m not a ghost, Lenore.”

“I could totally help you with that, if you like.”

“Do you really want to be stuck with him for _all_ eternity?” HG muttered softly so that only she could hear. Lenore snorted, appeased.

“Now,” the little wannabe-professor asked (all wide-eyed and innocent), “Could you string these lights from the roof for me please Lenore.”

Lenore stared at him, frozen for a moment, before sighing and taking a handful of the lights. “I’m not doing this just because you asked.” She told him, already starting to raise towards the roof.

“Of course not.”

“I’m doing this because I decided I want to.”

It wasn’t hard work – for her at least. She had to be just corporeal enough to hold onto the lights and place them so that they would not fall in a slight breeze, yet incorporeal enough that she was still able to, you know, _float_.

It would be a bit tricky for two newbie ghosts, like HG and Annabel.

 

Besides it’s not all bad – she mused inside her head – for one, HG looks really hot from this angle.

“That wasn’t inside your head Lenore,” Edgar shouted up – as HG’s cheeks blushed a wild red.

 

Only nine more strings of lights left to go.

                *=*=*

“You’re staring Lenore,” HG commented mildly, a few hours later after all the lights had been put up and they were inside again – and also once the time she had spent looking at him reached double digits.

“I’m not staring. You’re staring,” she refutes instantly.

“How much wine have you had tonight Lenore?”

“Not that much,” answering truthfully. “Only like two.”

“I’ve watched you drink more than two glasses of wine this evening.”

“No, two bottles.” She corrected.

And as ghosts are incapable of getting drunk she was right, it wasn’t that much.

He smiled slightly. “Maybe it’s time for you to go to bed.”

Lenore followed him silently – taking the stairs instead of floating up to her room because it still unnerved HG a little that they were able to do that.

“HG?” She asked, a question suddenly stuck in her mind.

“Yes, Lenore.”

“We’re ghosts. We don’t sleep. Why are we going to bed?”


	9. Wellenore - Gingerbread House

“Look, I know that inventing and building is kind of ‘your thing’.” Lenore told HG with a long suffering air. “But this is a gingerbread house. It’s baking, and making things look good, and it’s ‘my thing’.”

“Yes, but…” He tried to explain.

“My thing.” She repeated, back to him as she wrestled with a wayward icing bag.

 

He doesn’t leave though. Just stands in her peripheral vision, ‘helping’ and ‘watching’ and ‘not being in her way’ (she does adore him, but right now, she’d adore him a little bit more if he just disappeared back to the attic and let her work on her house in peace.

Finally, she’s had enough, and takes the second batch of gingerbread (intended for Annabel later that evening, but she can always make more for her ‘ghost sister’) and places it down in front of him – just gentle enough to avoid any breakages.

“Show me how to do it _correctly_ then.” If HG heard the sliver of ice (formed with her growing annoyance at him just … being there) in her voice, he certainly didn’t acknowledge it – and he set to work constructing a house of his own.

 

Minutes pass in near silence – both the pair completely immersed in their work, and ignorant of the world around them – when Lenore has to leave the room.

She’s run out of the ‘good icing’, and needs to fetch some from the room next door.

She’s scarcely gone two minutes, and she (of course) knows and trusts HG well enough that he will not have tampered with her house.

She is still nearly shocked senseless when she returns however.

 “What. Is that?” She deadpans, no other response available to her.

“It’s my gingerbread house.”

“That is not a gingerbread house. That has lights and electricity and,” she struggled for another word, “ _things_ , all over it.”

“I know,” he told her. “It’s quite wonderful, don’t you think.” He didn’t wait to hear for an answer – instead returning to his growing creation (flashing and electric and metal and so entirely HG), as Lenore returned to hers (far more elegant, but somehow plainer now, in comparison).

 

She decides then and there that this will be the greatest gingerbread house that she (that anyone) has ever created. Chocolate and icing and candy and more icing and more chocolate and more candy and more icing.

And it’s beautiful and elegant and as plain as she is (which is to say – not at all).

And then, she’s happy. She takes a step backward, turns around and sees HG (not even finished) creation.

 

It has a door.

That moves.

On its own!

 

She watches him place a candy, and then test the door mechanism. Shake his head and move it, by a fraction of a centimetre. And then try again.

He does it over and over, with the same level of concentration as on any of his more substantial creations. Until finally, he smiles slightly – and he’s happy with it.

 

And at that precise moment, Lenore wanders over, removes that very same candy, pops it into her mouth, and swallows.

HG freezes slightly, like he can’t quite believe what she’d done.

“Lenore.” He says calmly, “I needed that candy so as to counter-balance the weight from the door to allow the mechanisms to work smoothly.”

She blinks once – hearing the words, but not really understanding them.

“Without that candy, the door will not work correctly.” He tries again.

“It just … didn’t look _right_.” A faux-innocent look in her eyes, “Plus, you know they’re totes my favourite. It’s your own fault really.” She smiled, sweetly, and turned her back on him.

HG narrows his eyes, ever so slightly.

War. Has begun.

 


	10. Poe, Annabel, Lenore & HG - Decorating the Tree

It was Annabel who decided they should all do it together.

Normally, it was Lenore’s job to decorate – because there were only two people in the house, and one of them (Edgar) didn’t care. At all.

The pair had never had a tree before – Edgar wouldn’t bring one into the house, and Lenore couldn’t (on her own) – so she had placated herself with decorating everything else.

 

This year, however, Annabel thought it would be a _wonderful_ idea if they had a Christmas tree. It was all the rage, after all.

So they got a Christmas tree.

Because, of course they did.

 

There was a system worked out pretty quickly – Annabel would take the next decoration out of the box and hand it to Edgar, who would place it where he deemed fit upon the tree.

And then Lenore would frown, remove it from the tree, and put it somewhere better.

(“Don’t cluster the colours together, Edgar, they need to be spread randomly.”)

(“I am doing it randomly.”)

(“Not actually randomly, but perfectly randomly. Give it to me, you’re doing it wrong.”)

 

HG had tried to help, but after the third instance of Lenore removing a decoration he had just taken his hand off (and one where she removed the decoration _from his hand_ just for _looking_ at the wrong place on the tree), he had retreated to the corner of the room.

Where he was now sat, surrounded by the left over lights from the outside decoration of the house, along with random lengths of wire and machinery and contraptions strung around him, like he was a little Christmas tree all of his own.

He was ‘improving’ the lights. Making them ‘better’.

Or he was just pretending to do something, so as to avoid hanging shiny balls on a big indoor tree (because that’s a normal thing that normal people do in their normal homes. Absolutely. Totally.)

 

Time passes, fast and slow at the same time, and Lenore grows bored with correcting Edgar’s every placement, and Annabel takes over, somehow getting Edgar to replace the decorations himself with only the tilt of her head, or the slightest facial expression.

It’s equally amusing and terrifying at how easily Annabel can get Edgar to do _exactly_ what she wants.

 

But the sun has set, and the night has come, the fire is bright and the chatter is easy, and the warmth she feels isn’t necessarily coming from any external point.

And it’s strange, as she settles into the plush chair – but as Annabel micromanaged in her own … special way, and Edgar managed to get everything wrong even with the micromanaging, and HG – finally – stringing the lights around the tree (they do look good – the way they flash and even change colour. It’s impressive, really, and she lets him know she thinks so), it truly is beginning to feel like Christmas.

 


	11. Wellenore - "It Works"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is definitely less Christmas / Wintery than previous chapters - but it's the set up for a future chapter that will be very December-y.  
> Enjoy!

The day the time machine finally works is nothing special.

It’s a Sunday. The snow is higher than it was on Saturday, and lower than it will be on Monday.

It’s the thirty-second attempt since the one successful journey that ended with HG turning up in the study.

They’ve (well – he’s – Lenore’s more of a glorified cheerleader when it comes to the science-y… machinery … stuff) come close before. Sometimes nothing has happened, sometimes there’s been an arc of electricity that probably would have killed them – had they still been alive – sometimes lights flash, and smoke bellows and it looks so much like that first journey that they feel so excited. And then something cracks or breaks or just sputters into nothing-ness and they start again.

At least they know what _not_ to do this time. 

* * *

 

Anyway…

The day the time machine finally works is nothing special.

Lenore isn’t even there – she’s with Annabel in the study, enjoying some quality ‘girl-time’ and a chance to read _certain_ books without being teased by their (entirely too adorkable) author.

But when HG bursts through the door, she jumps to her feet immediately – the book (somehow, completely accidentally) being thrown behind her and disappearing under a chair.

He doesn’t even notice the strangeness of that action in how elated he has suddenly found himself.

_It works_ , he’s thinking, the words spinning around and around in his brain – even as he’s stood in front of two increasingly confused lady ghosts. _It works, it works, it works_.

And because those are the only words currently occupying him brain – the words that leave his mouth are: “It works!”

And then words appear to fail him, grand arm gestures taking their place – his mouth is moving, but no noise manages to escape.

“Come! Now!” He finally manages to say, and then turns around and disappears once again – presumably back to the attic where he has been spending most of his after-life.

As a still-confused Lenore follows a very excited HG back out of the room, Annabel (ignored in HG’s delight) shakes her head slightly and returns to the book.

* * *

There’s a … look on his face, a grin of nervous excitement – too great to hold in.

“Are you ready, my dear Lenore?”

She understands now – once she sees the machine working and flashing and smoking – and she has to admit, she’s a little bit excited as well (HG had never stopped doubting the time machine would work – eventually – but her hope had started to wane about the twenty-ninth failed attempt. She’s glad she was wrong though).

He holds out his hand for her, and together, they step through the fog.

 


	12. Edgar Allan Poe's Christmas Dinner / Gala for Friends Pot Luck - The Beginning

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Based on RoxyMoron's prompt: "Ernest drinks a little bit to much egg nog at Edgar Allan Poe's Christmas Dinner Party/Gala for Friends Pot Luck".  
> It was supposed to be longer but time was against me today. Maybe I'll add another chapter, maybe this'll become a full story at some point. I don't know yet.

“Edgar, are you sure this is a good idea?” Annabel asked, wringing her hands and pretending to be only slightly nervous at his plan.

“Yeah, don’t you remember what happened at your last party?” Lenore added. “That. That happened at your last party.” She pointed at Annabel and HG – or rather _their ghosts_ – a still rather depressing reminder of Edgar’s failed party.

(Although if you deemed a party to be a social gathering of invited guests – the party was technically a success. The murders – the many, _many_ murders – just put a damper on it, is all.)

“That won’t happen again.” He insisted, “With myself, Oscar and Ernest – there can only be a maximum of three murders.” He added a finishing touch to an envelope, before placing it in the ‘complete’ pile (and yes – there was a pile. He had friends now. Well – he had Annabel and Lenore and _they_ had friends. But still. It counted.)

“A maximu…” Lenore scoffed, almost disbelieving if she didn’t know him so well, “A party should have zero murders Edgar. Zero!”

 

Edgar looked down at the invitation, the words staring boldly back into his face:

Edgar Allan Poe’s Christmas Dinner Party / Gala for Friends Pot Luck

 

“After everything last time, what could go wrong this time?”

Lenore rolls her eyes, and leaves him to it, “Your funeral,” she tells him as she exits the room, HG close behind her. “Possibly literally.”

                *=*=*

Fourteen days later when the kitchen burst into flames in the middle of the party (something to do with Mary Ann and Ernest and someone – who was definitely not Lenore – spiking the egg nog, but the details were still rather vague), Edgar would remember those words and regret them most dearly.

He still blames Lenore though.

(At least no one died this time. That was an improvement.)


	13. Edgar & HG

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this is in response to a few reviews back on Day 5 - with AnnaPoe under the mistletoe, and Edgar finally wondering why HG really had stuck around after all this time. Enjoy!!

“Please, sit.” Edgar gestured at the only chair in the room that wasn’t his own – by now, it could technically be referred to as Annabel’s chair, but she wasn’t here right now.

HG was.

 

Edgar didn’t sit. Edgar paced. Backwards and forwards in awkward silence for long enough that HG was finally going to ask to be excused from this … strange encounter.

And then he started talking – not that it made much sense to anyone other than Mr Poe himself – “A few days ago, Annabel and myself were heading to the kitchen and there was…” he cut himself off, thinking, before starting again. “So Annabel was there, and there was … mistletoe, and...”

He cut himself off again, shaking his head slightly. “It’s not important.” He muttered the last three words almost to himself more than HG, and it was at this point that HG started to get _incredibly_ confused. He was already unsure as to why Edgar had wanted to speak with him – alone – in the first place.

“Well, the mistletoe is a bit important, the mistletoe outside the kitchen.”

HG couldn’t stop his slight blush as he remembered _why_ they had been too distracted to remove that sprig of mistletoe before Annabel or Edgar could discover it – but Edgar was too lost in his own mind to notice the reddening of his companion’s cheeks. (And ears. And forehead. And chest. And basically everywhere else. When HG blushes he _blushes_. Lenore finds it adorable.)

“We can take it down, if its bothering you?” HG doesn’t think that’s the problem (anyone with eyes knows that Edgar relishes every opportunity to be in the same _room_ as Miss Annabel Lee, let alone kiss her) but he doesn’t know what else could be caused by the mistletoe.

“No, no. Don’t need to do that.” He sighed and HG could see him trying to form words – the correct words – in his mind as he scrumpled his face up slightly.

“It’s just … Annabel said something and … we’re friends, right?” Edgar finally asked.

Well – HG doesn’t know what he was expecting but it wasn’t … that. “Pardon?”

“Well, at the party, we became close so quickly, and we had those wonderful conversations. And then you went and died – I’m very sorry about that by the way – but you stuck around anyway. And I thought it was because we were friends.” The words flowed quickly, toppling out almost before they previous one was complete.

“We … are friends?” HG told him unsurely – they were, sort of, they didn’t spend that much time together, but he liked Edgar. Even if Edgar didn’t like much. And even if Edgar apparently remembered a very different party to HG.

Edgar finally sat down in his chair on the other side of the desk. “Then what’s going on between you and Lenore?”

The blush returned in full force – he could feel the tips of his ears turn almost radioactive – and he tried to stammer out an answer when a third voice interrupted both of them.

 

“Yeah HG, what’s going on between us?”

Lenore had apparently grown tired of waiting for Edgar to finish his conversation with HG and came looking for her professor herself. And managed to walk into the conversation at precisely the wrong time – or the right time depending on how you viewed the situation, and how amusing you found it.

HG looked back and forth between the pair of them – Edgar in his sincere earnestness waiting for an answer, Lenore with her amused smirk waiting for an answer – and slumped even lower into his chair.

“Oh, dear.” He muttered.

 


	14. Wellenore - Food Fight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Continuation of Day 9 - the Gingerbread House.
> 
> Written following the reviews of ElphabaInTheTARDIS, and RoxyMoron, asking for the 'War' to be continued.  
> Please enjoy!!

Lenore could almost believe it was an accident the first time it happened – HG ‘tripped’, his hand landing awkwardly on the icing, spraying it over her hair and the back of her dress.

(And do you know how hard it is to wash _stuff_ out of ghost clothes. Let alone ghost hair. Not easy – put it that way.)

But there was more covering his hand and up his arm, and he looks so shocked that she laughs slightly and does (almost) believe it was an accident.

 

The second time it happens it is definitely not an accident.

Emboldened by his first attempt, his second was … rather less subtle.

In that – he sneezed, and when Lenore half turned to look at him, he threw a small handful of candies at her. He was (of course) aiming just to the left of her – but as anyone would tell you, his aim isn’t the greatest.

Silence reigned over the kitchen, as Lenore carefully removed a single candy from her hair, before placing it – not gently at all – on the worktop.

There’s an eerie stillness for a moment, and then she leaps into action and retaliation – a handful of icing finding its way to the centre of his chest before he can react to her sudden movement.

His expression suddenly bears a startling resemblance to a kicked puppy, and Lenore can’t help but laugh – nearly doubling over in her joy, when another handful of candies hit her behind the ear.

This is not the time to be laughing at the other’s misfortune – when there is an attack to be launched, a defence to be maintained.

 

The houses are quickly moved to the edges of the room – as far from the makeshift ‘war zone’. This doesn’t affect them (and Lenore is actually really proud of hers, even more so than usual. And HG’s flashes. And has moving parts. And well – he wants to preserve it. For at least a little bit.)

 

And then the rules are forgotten.

Not that there were rules in the first place.

He got candies stuck _in her hair_.

That’s the very definition of ‘no rules’.

 

Chaos reigns.

Candies and chocolates and icing – whole handfuls of icing that cling more to the thrower than the intended target – nothing is sacred as their ‘little fight’ devolves into madness.

And then Lenore finds a bag of flour in the cupboard, and the odds swing ever so much further in her favour.

 

A cloud forms around the pair. They’re not even looking where they’re throwing anymore; any direction is fine as long as it’s away from them.

_It’s far more fun than a snowball fight_ , Lenore finds herself musing – while still throwing flour as best she can, considering it’s … well, it’s dust, _for one, it’s warmer. Clean up will probably take longer. But that’s future Lenore’s problem_.

It’s drawing to a close though – for while she still has half a bag of flour (and not a small bag) in her possession - HG is running out of ammunition. If it goes on much longer, he’ll be forced to scavenge. The random pieces on the floor, possibly even some of the cosmetic pieces of his gingerbread house.

 

And then it happens. He’s out. Lenore can see in his eyes – the amusement when he has nothing left in his arsenal.

But instead of retaliating – of throwing more flour back at him – Lenore walks closer, her hands free and by her sides, and a natural truce is formed – as she makes her way towards him, almost annoyingly slowly (not that HG would ever admit Lenore is _annoying_. She can be dramatic at times though).

 

They’re stood close now, nose to … not quite nose (height differences are fun).

She rises up slightly, one hand on his arm, the other loose by her side, and there’s a sparkle in her eyes and a smirk on her lips.

She leans forward slightly…

And then smears a handful of icing from his forehead to his chin – retreating to the relative safety of the other side of the kitchen.

HG wipes the offending substance from around his eyes, before joining in her laughter – his almost incredulous, to contrast with her pure joy at her victory.

 

He retaliates.

                *=*=*

Annabel walked into the kitchen.

 

She had been looking for Lenore – they were planning on making gingerbread houses together, or decorating them, or something. She’d never decorated a gingerbread house before, and was rather looking forward to it.

The scene that greeted her was … rather unconventional. Two mostly complete houses stood to the side (one of them was _flashing_ ) while everything else was coated in a layer of flour and icing and candies.

Even the two ghosts – who hadn’t even noticed her presence yet – still obviously in the midst of their … epic … food fight.

Lenore let out a laugh – not the smirk that she was used to seeing, or even the little snort of laughter when something especially amused the Lady Ghost – but a full squealing giggle that would be more accustomed to the mouth of a joyful child, lacking a care in the world.

HG’s laugh was deeper, sure, but it was just as pure – especially when he caught Lenore and a handful of flour went down the back of her dress, like they were seven year olds on the playground, pretending they didn’t like each other.

 

Annabel walked out.


	15. AnnaPoe - Modern!AU

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is based off that tumblr post imagining all the Poe Party cast in the modern day, by hufflepvnk.  
> Find the original post here: http://hufflepvnk.tumblr.com/post/152314233484/poe-party-modern-au-part-one-edgar-allan-poe

It has been almost a year since the Literal Ray of Sunshine (also known as: Annabel Lee, kindergarten teacher extraordinaire and all round wonderful person) moved in next door to Gloom Personified (also known as: Edgar Allan Poe. Poet. Vlogger. Hermit).

In a completely unrelated topic, Edgar Allan Poe has also been pining (what’s a manlier word for pining? Actually, never mind – pining works just fine) for his next door neighbour for almost a year.

 

They don’t speak tremendously often, but Edgar works from home (out of choice. A choice to never willingly spend time with people) and the window of his study overlooks Annabel’s daily walk to and from work.

_(“That’s called stalking. Stop.” His sister Lenore once told him, in mid-March.)_

_(“It’s called being a good neighbour.” Edgar replied. In mid-April.)_

 

It’s not that he hasn’t tried. He has.

He practices conversations, over and over, waiting for a moment to speak with her.

But then they meet – collecting mail, or on one of his rare trips out of the building – and she tries to strike up a conversation (because she’s wonderful and lovely and beautiful and getting off topic here).

And his voice just runs away; he can speak but the words (the words that do his bidding on paper, in his poems, on his camera. The words that he commands) don’t come out _right_. He sounds strangled and unsure and she mustn’t think very highly of him – he doesn’t sound like himself at all.

 

So he watches; when it’s windy and she fights against it, determined in her path; when it’s sunny and she marvels at everything in her path; when it snows and she wears almost ten layers of clothing, because she hates the cold, but she still walks to work.

His favourite is when it rains, and she takes an umbrella and almost dances through the puddles.

 

He notices when she gets a boyfriend (Eddie. A banker. All charm and perfection. And they look happy. Almost. But something’s _off_ ). And he notices when they break up (Eddie storming off into the night and never returning).

He sees her the next day and tries to offer her tea. The words don’t come out properly, and he gives her a sad smile instead. She smiles back with her lips and not her eyes.

It takes two weeks for her to smile with her eyes again.

Edgar decides he hates Eddie.

Even more than he did before.

He didn’t think that was possible.

Apparently, it was.

 

And now Christmas is just around the corner (well, it’s December 10th. Close enough. Perhaps.), and if the decorations in and around her house are any indicator – she _likes_ Christmas, and he needs to get her a gift. He needs to get her the perfect gift.

 

And he’s used the word ‘and’ too many times.

But it doesn’t matter because there’s still the question of _what_ to get her.

 

_What does Annabel like?_ He muses – far too many times. _She likes being kind, and being good, and helping people. She likes smiling and spending time with friends and she’s a kindergarten teacher. So she likes children. And teaching. Probably. Maybe._

 

This could take longer than he thought.

                *=*=*

It’s their monthly phone call.

Lenore works in fashion and she’s busy and doesn’t have time to phone very often.

Edgar doesn’t like people.

 

Lenore has a new boyfriend. (Which isn’t new. Lenore has a new boyfriend every week) She doesn’t say anything, but Edgar gets the feeling this boyfriend is different to the ones before; different to Guy and Alan and John. This one is _serious_. He’d tease her – if he wasn’t so caught up in his own life.

The talk turns to Christmas. Are they going to visit their parents? Lenore- yes. Edgar – no. Is Edgar going to Skype? Edgar says no. Lenore says he doesn’t have a choice.

Like always, the conversation turns to Annabel Lee. Edgar has no self-control.

 

“You’ve written like fifty poems about her. Just give one of those. It’s personal and thoughtful – she’d like that.”

“I haven’t written fifty poems. I’ve written twenty.” He argues (they’re incapable of talking without arguing. They live 30 minutes apart and speak once a month by phone.) “And wouldn’t that be creepy.”

“Everything about you is creepy, she hasn’t run away screaming yet.” she’s talking to someone on the other end of the line as well – it sounds like business; machines and stuff, but that laugh is not business. “And I thought she likes poetry.”

“She does.” He thinks about it a moment. “I will give her one of my poems.”

“That is literally what I just said.”

They hang up not long after.

                *=*=*

Edgar really was going to give her a poem. He had it picked out and everything – it was perfect, and it expressed his love for her in minute detail.

He planned every word he was going to say – every possible outcome of the conversation.

He leaves and walks the five steps, and raises a hand to knock on the door.

She opens it before he can, obviously on her way out somewhere – eyes bright, red hair almost on fire in the morning sun.

“Hello, Edgar.” She smiled. She smiles at everyone, but it feels special when she smiles at him. His brain goes blank.

 

Twenty minutes later, he’s back in his home, head in his hands.

How had he given her a _rock_?

                *=*=*

Nevertheless, he’s determined not to give up.

He knows his downfall. Speaking. So he shan’t speak to her.

He will give her his poem – silently – and then back away slowly and gracefully.

Leaving her able to read it in her own time without any expectations that would come from him (the author) being stood in front of her.

 

He decides on a different poem to give her.

It’s one of his more recent poems.

And one of his better ones.

And he doesn’t profess his love for her in this one.

Lenore says that might be weird.

Lenore is usually right.

(Never tell her that though.)

 

And there he is – two days later, stood in front of Annabel’s door once again.

He manages to knock this time. Barely.

His heart is jumping out of his mouth, and he can barely breathe, and he feels very, _very_ nervous.

It abates – slightly – when she opens the door.

She’s confused, he can tell.

He’s never come to her door without a specific reason before, and now twice in three days. It’s a record.

The rock is sat on a table in the hallway.

She hasn’t just put it back on the floor outside.

That’s a good sign. Right?

 

He tries not to think anymore and just thrusts the folded up piece of paper into her hand – disappearing almost immediately.

He’d left his door open for this exact reason – five steps, and he’s inside his home. Five steps and he’s safe from any possible reaction.

He doesn’t want to be there the moment that her sweet face turns to repulsion. Doesn’t want to deal with that rejection so harshly.

He _knows_ she wouldn’t do that – not to his face at least – but he doesn’t _know_ it.

Anxiety is fun.

 

At home, he pretends it never happened. Pretends he didn’t just hand a literal (figurative) piece of his soul to the girl who lives next door. Pretends there aren’t twenty more pieces in a box on his desk.

He writes (about ravens and ghosts and death and not beautiful maidens by the name of Annabel Lee), and he works, and he tries to ignore the panging in his chest while he waits for a resolution that may never come.

 

Later that evening, there’s a knock on his door – and a letter for him – but no authoress to be found.

The paper is beautiful – thick and cream coloured, and there’s a flock of black birds in the corner, that obviously came pre-printed on the paper. He likes her paper. He likes her handwriting too, he’s never seen it before – beautifully cursive, in ink from a fountain pen. It’s very … _Annabel Lee_.

He reads it and smiles.

 

_I liked the poem. And I’d like to be friends._

_Annabel Lee_.

 


	16. Wellenore - Modern!AU

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And the Wellenore Modern!AU. This one is absolutely based on the facebook post from a few days ago, and the notion that no fandom should be without a Coffee Shop AU.

There’s a clunk and then an ominous thud, before the espresso machine splutters out the last few drops of brown liquid and promptly dies.

For the second time that week.

Lenore is pretty sure it’s nothing she’s done. (This time.)

 

She hates this job.

She’s grateful and everything that her brother let her have a job at his coffee shop (although how her brother _ever_ opened a coffee shop is beyond her. Edgar hates people almost as much as Lenore hates her job) but it is _so_ boring.

The people are cool and all – her fellow baristas range from sane, to quirky, to downright eccentric (she likes to think of herself as sane), and there are a good handful of regulars; Mary (scary), Ernest (just weird), George (literally a girl wearing a fake moustache. Every day for the past six months), Jim and Jimmy (adorable if incompetent) and _the beautiful Annabel Lee_ (or at least, that’s how Edgar refers to her – being _completely_ in love with her. Despite never having spoken to her. Ever. It’s quite sad actually.)

She doesn’t even like coffee (doesn’t like working with it at least – her blood coffee level must be at least 40% at this point), she likes _fashion_.

But even with a degree like hers, fashion is a hard business to break into, and the alternative to working here is working a different menial job (or starvation).

At least here she can argue with her boss.

 

“Edgar!” She calls, not looking away from the now smoking (oh dear, that is _a lot_ of smoke) machine. “It broke again!”

“Then phone H- HG? Wells? Uh, phone the technician!” It’s three o’clock in the afternoon and there are no customers in the shop, so Edgar doesn’t even come into the room – instead shouts through the door at his younger sister.

 

They’ve had to call him more and more often recently – with the old technician they needed him possibly once or twice a month. In the past few months, since HG started coming round – the calls have increased to at least once or twice a week.

It’s because the machine is getting older and Lenore might not be the world’s greatest barista.

And if the machine only ever breaks when Lenore is on duty – well, that’s complete coincidence.

(It’s got nothing to do with how cute HG Wells is in his uniform. Or his hair, or his stubble, or that little smile when he’s unsure of something.)

(Absolutely not)

                *=*=*

HG turns up half an hour later.

“Wow.” He states when he sees the machine. It’s stopped smoking (mostly) but it’s making a groaning noise that definitely isn’t healthy and definitely reminds Lenore of the zombies from that film she saw the other day. “That is … that is definitely broken.”

“Did you think I’d call for without a real incident?” She asks, faux-offended.

HG doesn’t reply, concentrating on the sad, sad machine in front of him

“I only call you when there’s a real incident.” She continues. He looks at her this time, and raises an eyebrow, and one memorable incident (a few weeks back) where something just wasn’t plugged in popped into her mind, but she quickly shoved away.

“I mostly call you when there’s a real incident.” She amends from where she’s sat on the countertop. She fusses with her uniform and (not for the first time) she’s glad that Edgar gave her basically free reign on designing the uniforms. They’re cute. She’s cute. HG’s cute. They should be cute together.

 

“Well, your coffee machine breaks a lot,” he tells her – a satisfied smile on his face that she _knows_ means he knows what’s wrong, and how to fix it. It usually takes him less than twenty minutes from this point for the machine to be fully functioning. (It annoys her slightly that he’s figured out what’s wrong so quickly – she’d thought she’d hidden the fault more thoroughly than that. But he is good at his job.)

“Well, I get bored a lot,” she replies, a half smirk on her lips.

He doesn’t know how to respond to that, so he doesn’t, instead concentrating on the machine in front of him and pretending that the back of his neck isn’t flushing pink.

 

“Sooo,” she draws the word out after a few moments of silence, “What are your Christmas plans?”

He splutters at the sudden question, but then smiles slightly at her expectant expression.

“Well,” he starts, somehow overthinking and under thinking every word. “I was, uh, I was to planning to ask…”

 

“Leave him alone, Lenore.” Edgar demands, suddenly walking into the room, but there’s no bite in his voice. “We need him to keep fixing the espresso machine.”

She mimes zipping her mouth shut taking two steps backwards (so she’s a more … suitable distance from the technician), and watches as Edgar fusses for a few moments more, despite being neither wanted nor needed.

(He does own the shop, but does he need to stick his nose in everything. The answer to that is, obviously, yes. He owns the shop.)

“So HG,” she asks, a twinkle in her eye as Edgar starts to leave, “How wonderful is your girlfriend?”

She isn’t sure who gets more flustered – HG or Edgar.

                *=*=*

“There.” He finally stated after fifteen minutes of comfortable silence in which he had worked and Lenore had watched him work (it’s surprisingly interesting watching him work – even if she doesn’t understand any of what he’s doing.)

“You know,” he stated mildly, placing his tools back inside his bag, “If you keep breaking the machine so often, he’ll work it out much sooner.”

“The only things on this planet Edgar Poe cares about are his books and Annabel Lee. We could literally make out in front of him, and he wouldn’t notice.”

The back of his neck flushes a pale pink, and it’s completely adorable.

“Are you sure about that?” He asks, as he stands up – a glint in his eye.

“Yeah, watch.” And she pulls him in for a kiss (there are no customers, there’s no other baristas for at least an hour, and Edgar is … Edgar is Edgar).

Her world narrows to HG, and the kiss, and his _hands_ and she’s missed this (she hasn’t kissed him since she left his house at seven that morning – and okay, maybe she has it bad, but right now she doesn’t really care).

Finally, they break apart, slightly flushed and breathless (and Lenore might need to redo her hair. And makeup).

“I’ll be at yours at seven?” It’s not really a question that she asks.

“I’ll have dinner ready, and…” His sentence is interrupted by another kiss. “I have the most wonderful girlfriend.”

She smiles and kisses him again, just a quick peck on the lips this time, before literally pushing him out of the door.

Only another four hours left in her shift.

 

Would Edgar notice if the espresso machine broke again?

 


	17. PALHG - It was Annabel's idea

It was Annabel’s idea.

(Many things were these days. Edgar would do anything that she asked because _Annabel_ , Lenore would do most things Annabel asked, and HG either did his own thing or followed Lenore – depending on his mood.)

 

Anyway…

It was Annabel’s idea.

 

In her defence, it had seemed like a good idea at the time. She was right when she said they’d been cooped up inside the house for too long. (When Edgar tried to protest she reminded him – not too subtly – that he hadn’t seen daylight in three days, and that _that’s not natural._ ) And it had been a beautiful day – freezing cold, but the sky was clear and blue, and despite the layer of crisp snow still left on the ground from a few days previous – it seemed perfect conditions for a winter walk.

 

How were they supposed to anticipate the almost-blizzard that appeared out of nowhere? How were they supposed to know they’d get completely lost, and spends a few extra hours than they were anticipating outside? How were they supposed to know that ghosts can still get cold and Lenore _really_ doesn’t like it? Or that Edgar would literally walk into a tree and practically knock himself out? How were they supposed to anticipate any of that?

 

Besides…

It was Annabel’s idea

 

Eventually they made it back to the house – cold, and tired, and hungry – and all they wanted to do was disappear to their respective corners of the house, when Annabel had _another_ great idea (because the first one worked out so well. And yes, she’s being snarky. But see above – cold, tired, and hungry. Totally deserved in this case).

 

Part one of Annabel’s new idea was much better than her previous – especially considering it involved nothing more than relaxing in front of the fire while Little Miss Sunshine herself pottered around somewhere else in the house. Recently, she had become far more proficient at remaining corporeal, even while distracted, and she liked to practice without anyone (Edgar) hovering over her shoulder.

 

Part two of Annabel’s new idea involved Annabel alone in the kitchen – surrounded by chocolate and milk and an assortment of other ingredients that don’t seem like they should go together, but absolutely do.

Edgar will like it because she made it (they have to work on that – he needs more reasons for enjoying life).

Lenore will like it because she didn’t make it (Lenore likes cooking but not _all_ the tie. It’s a treat when someone else cooks. Even if they are literally just making hot chocolate.)

And HG will like it because it’s his recipe (he had been quiet lately – even more so than usual. So she tracked down his favourite boyhood beverage recipe for the sole purpose of cheering him up. Because _obviously_.)

 

And of course, with a plan like that…

It was Annabel’s idea.

 

And as the four sat in front of the fire, smiles wide and sleepy as thick hot chocolate warmed their hands and their chests and their hearts (even Edgar) – all content while the conversation ebbed and flowed; Annabel took joy in the fact that…

It was all Annabel’s idea.

 


	18. AnnaPoe - Snow Angels

When Edgar trips in the snow it’s entirely his own fault.

Annabel hadn’t even been stood next to him at the time, having been entranced by a particularly beautiful bloom of a leaf of a thing of a … something. Annabel finds a lot of things ‘particularly beautiful’.

It’s quite endearing.

 

She’s drawn out of her entranced state however, when she hears him fall – just in time to see him pull an especially displeased face.

She hides the laugh behind a cough, and the smile behind her hand – but he knows (he always know).

 

Of course – while it’s not entirely his own fault, it is his own fault.

To be more specific – it’s not an accident that he fell in the snow (despite what his face may say) or that he walked into a tree and nearly knocked himself unconscious (okay – that one had been partially an accident – the nearly unconscious part at least)

 

The thing is – Annabel has been down lately. A combination of the Party-That-Shall-Never-Be-Spoken-Of, and the truth about Eddie and, you know, dying. It bears a weight on the mind.

But she won’t talk about it – even to him – not easily anyway. And he doesn’t like to force her to do anything that she doesn’t want to do. But he wants to make her feel better. And Lenore says talking about things makes them better.

So he was in a bit of dilemma.

That is – until he fell in the snow while out with her on a sleigh ride – and suddenly hit upon an ‘Annabel-Happiness’ jackpot. Sure, it required falling and cold, and actively making himself look a bit of a fool. But it made her laugh – and he likes it when she laughs.

So he falls on her ‘off’ days, and she laughs and they both feel better for a little bit.

It’s not a permanent cure (it can’t be) but it works for now.

 

She likes feeling needed as well, which is why he always waits for her to come and get him before joining the rest of the house for meals.

He managed to feed himself well enough before Annabel joined them, and Lenore knows this very well – but it makes her happy (Annabel that is – Edgar thinks HG makes Lenore happy, but he only found out about that a few days ago. He’s come to realise he doesn’t understand his original housemate very well). So he allows her to ‘fuss’ over him, and to occasionally forget a meal – for the sole purpose of her hunting him down, and practically force feeding him. (Also she can’t eat very well – she’s been working on it, but still – and he thinks she likes watching him eat. It’s weird, but Edgar has dealt with weirder.)

 

But back to the present – and the cold is slowly seeping through his clothes and into his bones, and snow is very, _very_ cold – and he must love Annabel very, _very_ much in order to keep voluntarily falling into it given his severe dislike of cold (and hot and windy and foggy and any outside weather essentially).

He’s slowly managing to get to his feet, brushing what snow he can off of his shoulders and his self, trying (and failing) to keep to the Severely Unimpressed expression off his face.

The second time he falls, it actually is an accident – a branch sticking out in the wrong place that he didn’t until too late – and once more he is flat on his back, all his breath knocked clean from his lungs.

He makes a start to stay something, but quickly decides it isn’t worth it – his head falling back against the snow. He isn’t injured (physically at least) although his ego is taking a bit of a hit now that Annabel isn’t even attempting to hide her laughter anymore – a full bellied thing that starts in her stomach and fills her entire body.

It’s while he’s trying to stand up (for the second time. With no help from a certain lady laughing so hard she’s be no help to anymore right now, even if she wanted to be. She doesn’t), his arms flailing slightly (so he’s not the most dignified person. Literally _anyone_ could have told you that.) that he realises that he’s (accidentally. Somehow. Absolutely not on purpose) created a snow angel in the impression he had created in the ground.

 

Annabel nearly cries with laughter when she realises – Edgar’s face a picture (cold and unimpressed however he tried to disguise it. Which he’s not truly to do anymore), she has to turn around, away from him, in an attempt to spare his feelings.

It doesn’t work.

(But it makes him feel better that _she_ feels better.)

(It’s weird)

 

Finally, Annabel’s finally regained enough control of herself to try and help him back to his feet.

(By this point Edgar has just sighed and resigned himself to hypothermia. It would give Annabel plenty of opportunities to fuss over him. And an excuse not to leave the house (or even his room) in ages. What’s the downside to hypothermia again? Oh yeah – death. Maybe not just yet.)

She’s helping him back up, and recognises the glint in his eye a moment too late, realises his plan just a fraction too late to save herself – before she too is pulled down into the snow – creating an impression in the floor that is entirely Annabel Lee.

 

The snow angel competition that followed was just the logical procession of events.


	19. Edgar Allan Poe's Christmas Dinner / Gala for Friends Pot Luck - Part 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Continued from Day 12.

It was fair to say that Edgar Allan Poe’s Christmas Dinner Party / Gala for Friends Pot Luck wasn’t _quite_ a success.

Almost everyone from the last party showed up (except He-Who-Shall-Not-Be-Named, and the two sisters who helped him. HG had come up with the new name for Eddie, and looked particularly amused every time it was said – he had been acting strangely since the Time Machine in the attic began working again), but it was … awkward – especially with the majority of the party goers being … well, being dead.

(Agatha had a mystery she was working on – apparently it’s much easier to solve the mysteries when you’re already dead and have nothing to fear. Krishanti refused to set foot in the house again. Fair enough. She had died here.)

 

Ernest and Oscar were actually among the first to arrive – Oscar in his magnificent fashion as always, and Ernest (surprisingly) not drunk (yet).

The ghosts arrived at their own speeds – not even attempting to use the doors. One moment they weren’t there, and the next they had appeared, immediately striking up a conversation as if they hadn’t just materialised out of thin air. Edgar – having grown used to Lenore and HG and Annabel – dealt with it quite well (or as well as Edgar Allan Poe was capable of appearing to deal with anything), but Oscar and Ernest – being less used to their less-living companions – were significantly more shocked the first time it happened.

 

Soon though, even the spectacle of spectres who used to be people appearing and disappearing and walking through walls wasn’t enough to save the party from the suffocating _boredom_ that fell upon them.

 

It got a little better when the food was brought out – Annabel and Lenore had created a veritable feast, one that was eagerly set upon by Edgar, Oscar and Ernest, and _less eagerly_ set upon by the other five due to their … varying success with eating food and not having it fall from their stomach to the floor.

By the time people (ghosts? Beings? How do you refer to a collection of those living and not-living?) were starting to congregate towards the drinks – only vaguely alcoholic, courtesy of Miss Lee (who believed – quite falsely – that fun can be easily had without the help of alcohol) – Lenore had Had Enough.

And if she (maybe, perhaps, kind of, a little) slipped something (barely anything) into the Egg Nog – well, who could blame her for trying to liven up the party?

 

As it turns out, Edgar could blame her.

Edgar could spend the next many years blaming her for what happened next.

                *=*=*

Louisa is the first one to be visibly affected – an outcome that would confuse anyone. She hadn’t been … entirely there, even before her untimely death. On the other side of this very house.

(Edgar is quickly realising why inviting _everyone_ back to this particular house _may_ not have been his greatest idea. May.)

Lenore tried to humour the poor woman at first – you know; she’s stuck in that horrific dress for the rest of eternity. That’s not a fate Lenore would wish upon her worst enemy. Eddie Dantes face flits quickly into Lenore’s mind, and she decides that actually yes – that would be something she’d wish upon her worst enemy. The idea of ‘The Great Eddie’ stuck in that garish orange creation for eternity brings something close to a smile to the first Ghost Lady’s lips.

But once Louisa started on about how she _understood_ the trees now, about how she _was_ one of the trees now, about how her arms were branches and her fingers twigs and if she stood still long enough she would grow roots and latch into the ground below her – Lenore decided it was time to go. There’s a limit to the amount of trouble an already-dead person can get into, even if they tried.

(And Lenore has tried)

                *=*=*

She adds a little more ghost-strength special something to the communal drink.

(Because it’s funny.)

                *=*=*

Mary’s reaction is actually one of the most terrifying of the evening – in Lenore’s quite honest opinion. The self-proclaimed queen of all things dark and underworld-y (that’s totally a world) – when drunk – turns into a _girly girl_. Like, her giggles could put Annabel’s to shame. And Annabel giggles – a lot. When she sees her start to try and attempt make up on which ever unfortunate passer-by happened to walk too close to her, it was more than time for Lenore to find somewhere new.

                *=*=*

If she adds a little more something to the drink as she passes – who can blame her.

(She’s only doing it because everyone was _so_ boring before.)

                *=*=*

She spots Edgar out of the corner of her eye.

To the untrained watchman, he would have looked completely fine (well – fine for Edgar, doom and gloom and death and Annabel). But Lenore _knows_.

(Lenore knows everything. It’s the truth.)

It’s in the way he’s both studiously ignoring everyone and watching them all intently.

It’s in the way he’s stood away from everyone, and then is suddenly (creepily) close to Annabel as soon as anyone pays any attention to her.

Not doing anything.

Just standing there.

Being creepy.

Annabel takes it quite well, regularly leading him away from people to sit in an armchair at the edge of the room (Lenore would do it once before abandoning him. She’s counted Annabel do it at least five times already. And each time, Edgar reappears back at her shoulder. Being creepy. Like always.)

At least she can cross – what is Edgar like when drunk – off her bucket list.

(Although why it was on there in the first place is a mystery.)

                *=*=*

She adds a drop or two more to the drink – people are _finally_ getting interesting.

                *=*=*

There’s actually no difference between drunk Dostoyevsky and not-drunk Dostoyevsky.

(While he’s not touched a drop of her drink, she highly doubts the clear liquid he’s been drinking is water.)

(He’s Russian. Come on.)

But she can’t tell if he’s always been drunk, or never been drunk, or somewhere between the two – but he’s drinking his clear (totally-not-water) liquid in the corner alone.

She doesn’t know quite why people are avoiding him; yeah, he’s big and Russian – but he’s also sad and has that puppy dog face thing going on – which might be cute (if HG wasn’t cuter).

(It might also have something to do with the axe sticking out of his head, and the trail of blood down his face.)

(That could put people off him.)

(Just an idea.)

(Yeah – that’s probably it.)

                *=*=*

She promises herself this is the last time she’s going to add something to the list.

(So she lies to herself sometimes, who cares?)

                *=*=*

Lenore isn’t quite looking where she’s going when she (actually literally) bumps into someone in a … rather drab blue dress.

She doesn’t recognise her – which is strange, a) considering that Lenore sent out all the invitations, and b) considering that said drab dress wearer was a ghost. And Lenore thought she knew all the ghosts in the area. Especially the ones she had inadvertently helped create.

“Hello.” She says politely, “Have we met?”

(Annabel says she needs to be politer at times. So does HG. And _Edgar_. He has no place to scold about manners.)

“I’m Emily?” The newcomer offers, obviously resigned to repeating herself for some reason. “I was at the last dinner party too.”

“You were?” Lenore doesn’t _think_ she remembers her – but a lot happened that night.

“Yes. I died here. Actually, I died there,” she points at the doorway of the kitchen – a faint red-ish stain on the floor that Lenore had never quite been able to remove after … after _Emily_ had been crushed by the feather of loneliness.

Yes – now she remembers.

That blood had soaked into everything – and was one of the most annoying things to deal with at the end of the party (besides all the death of course.)

“Oh, _Emily_ , of course,” Lenore starts, “Are you having a better time at this party?”

“Well, actually-”

“Just wait a moment,” Lenore cuts her off, something having caught her eye from the other side of the room. (Yes – maybe it’s HG. So what?) “I’ll be back soon,” she promises, before disappearing.

 

She isn’t back soon.

 

Emily sighs and looks down at her glass.

Wine and cats don’t treat her this way.

(Why did she leave her room again?)

(Oh yeah – human contact.)

(That was a _brilliant_ idea, wasn’t it, Emily.)

                *=*=*

This time it is actually the last time she adds something to the drink.

But mostly because she doesn’t have anything left.

Besides there’s probably more of her … ‘additions’ in the drink than the original beverage at this point.

Her work is done.

                *=*=*

Getting HG drunk was accidental.

She meant to warn him, but she forgot.

And by the time she remembered to warn him about what she had added, it was too late.

He’s a happy drunk.

Smiles a lot.

Watches her a lot.

It’s nice.

And not creepy like Edgar watching Annabel.

 

Drunk HG doesn’t like people though.

Well – doesn’t like a lot of people.

He amiable with Annabel.

He has a single conversation.

And he likes Lenore a lot.

That’s not that much different to normal HG.

But drunk HG keeps trying to disappear.

Which wouldn’t be so bad.

Except he keeps trying to get Lenore to disappear with him.

 

Now – Lenore is a good host.

And a good host (especially a good ghost host) doesn’t just up and disappear halfway through the party.

Although HG does make some good points.

And the party isn’t boring anymore.

And Annabel and Edgar are … somewhere.

And like 90% of the guests are already dead.

So it’s not like there’s going to be _another_ mass murder.

And HG really does make some good points.

No one notices when they disappear through the wall.

                *=*=*

So as it happens, Lenore isn’t even in the room to witness the most interesting event of the evening.

 

(And neither is HG, or Annabel, or Poe, or Emily, or Mary – anyone who would have stopped the idiotic train of events before they got as out of hand as they did. It’s everyone’s fault really.)

(But it’s a good bit Lenore’s fault.)

(No, it’s not. Stop saying that Edgar. It’s your house – your fault.)

(Just get back on with the story)

 

Most of the guests have somehow tuned out the steady thumping from near the back door, until Mary Ann shouts, “I need a live person over here!”

 

Now Mary Ann – having ‘revealed’ herself in her last living moment (literally wasting her breath, not that she ever realised) – is forever left in ‘George’s’ clothing, but minus the moustache she ripped off at the last moment, but she’s ‘allowing’ people to refer to her as Mary Ann since her death. However – her antics in proving she’s still ‘one of the guys’ have only gotten more bizarre (as unlikely as that may seem) since her death – eventually leading to this very moment.

 

It’s Ernest who makes his way over towards her first – back in his natural state (of completely inebriated).

The thumping – as it turns out – was Mary Ann trying to pull a chicken _through_ the door. She’s a ghost. The chicken is not. It’s not working. And she hasn’t got the corporeal thing down enough to be able to open the door. And she _wants_ this chicken.

That’s why she needs the ‘live person’. Ernest, in this instance.

 

He opens the door.

(Because he’s still alive – bastard – and he can do that)

“Are you aware that this chicken is alive?” He doesn’t sound surprised or confused – he just … is.

She looks disappointed at this. “Still! I could have sworn the fourth rock killed it.”

“No worries friend,” Ernest produced a blade from a pocket somewhere on his person – and should he really be handling a blade considering how he’s having trouble putting one foot in front of the other.

 

But … oh no … well the chicken is _definitely_ dead now.

That solves problem number one.

 

Problem number two – uncooked meat is … not the most delicious.

But Lenore has an oven. And she’s not currently cooking anything in it.

And she’s not currently in the vicinity of it.

She wouldn’t mind … too much … if Mary Ann borrowed it.

Would she?

Just temporarily.

Of course she wouldn’t.

 

“Did you just kill that chicken,” Oscar demands of her as she makes her way towards the oven – her goal.

“Of course not!” She’s almost offended (she had _tried_ to kill it. It hadn’t worked.) “Ernest killed it.”

“That I did,” he agreed, slurring his words from the corner he had managed to get himself stuck in, in the literal thirty seconds he had been away from Mary Ann.

 

Looking from the oven to the dead bird in her hand, Mary Ann thinks for a moment, and then just places the whole chicken – still warm, still sticky – in the oven.

She thinks for a moment – sure she’s forgotten a step – but never mind. She’s a ghost. It can’t hurt her now.

She turns the oven on.

 

The fire that ensues is entirely and completely Mary Ann’s fault though.

(How was she to know that you’re supposed to remove the feathers and stuff _before_ you cook the meat?)

(Because it’s common sense?)

(Well, don’t get snarky.)

                *=*=*

Lenore’s make up is perfect when she bursts back into the room – alerted by the sudden flames – HG conspicuously absent from her side.

(If this fire messed up her clothes or her books or HG’s machines – no one would be safe from her wrath.)

If her hair, and the buttons on the back of her dress are … less perfect … then that’s her own business.


	20. Wellenore - Christmas Movies

The time machine has been working for almost three days now, and HG is (finally) allowing Lenore to accompany him on his second trip to the future.

He hadn’t forbidden her from going with him on the first one.

But he’d said please, and it might be dangerous, and he had used those big eyes that always get him his own way.

And she’d allowed him one trip on his own – to ensure that the future wasn’t full of ghost-murdering psychopaths (is that a thing? Lenore hopes it isn’t a thing) – even though _she_ doesn’t like letting _him_ go on his own.

But now it’s the second trip, and Lenore is coming along, and she’s actually _really_ excited. I mean – it’s _the future_. And her HG just built a _time machine_ to visit _the future_ as much as he (and she) likes. It’s not just quite great, it’s very, very, very great.

                *=*=*

Lenore doesn’t like the time machine.

The smoke smells, and clings to her lungs and her clothes. The lights flash and blind her, and she can’t tell up from down, forward from backward. But HG has a confident grip on her arm, and he seems to know where he’s going and what he’s doing.

So she trusts him.

                *=*=*

Lenore doesn’t know what to make of where they end up.

It’s a … house … she thinks. The inside of one anyway. It’s all straight lines and the colour white, and there’s a really long leather chair (that actually looks very comfortable, if she’s being honest), and there’s a big black square where the fireplace should be.

It’s also empty.

 

“I thought this would be a good first trip,” HG explains, crouched before the black square. “It’s peaceful here. And the owner works a lot, and didn’t notice me before.”

“Someone lives here?” Lenore asks, entranced by everything she can see. She touches the curtain, and she sees out the window, and she thinks she must be halfway to the clouds with how far she is from the ground.

HG moves her carefully away from the window, and the world beyond there.

She realises something suddenly, “You’re taking this very well, for someone’s second trip to the future.” It’s not a question or an accusation. It’s a statement. And a true one as well.

“My second trip with this machine,” he corrected, studiously not looking at her. “I didn’t quite find you the first time,” he explains, as if it doesn’t matter, but it also … does? “I got lost a bit first. I was quite glad when I finally found you.”

 

There’s a moment of silence as his words sink in, and Lenore wants to say something, but she doesn’t know _what_ , and she doesn’t like dwelling in uncomfortable silence.

“So – what’s your plan for this future trip, HG?” She asks instead, and he seems pleased at the change of topic.

“I thought we could watch this,” He holds out a silver-y circle.

“That’s not going to be interesting for very long. And my mirrors are better.” Lenore replies honestly.

“No,” he laughs slightly, and she knows it’s not _at_ her, but she bristles slightly anyway. “It’s like … It’s like a book that you can watch.”

“Oh, sounds like something you would create.”

“It does, doesn’t it.” He smiles, and gestures at a thin rectangular box. “That’s what we’re watching,” he explains (he’s explaining a lot – but he knows more than she does – in this regard anyway.)

“What’s an _Elf_?” Lenore asks incredulously, looking down at the packaging.

“I don’t know.” He grins, fiddling with something electronic, until the black screen lit up with colour. “Let’s find out, shall we.”

                *=*=*

“No, no, no!” He argues, with a smile on his face. “You see…” He notices the strange expression on Lenore’s face – as if she’s just … she’s just watching him and unsure (in a good way) of what she’s seeing.

“…What?” He asks curiously, stopping in the middle of his … impassioned … explanation of why _he_ was right.

“Nothing,” she’s not usually shy around people. But then – HG doesn’t count as ‘people’. “You’ve been quiet lately. It’s nice seeing you excited.”

“Oh.” He’s quiet again – just for a moment, and Lenore is _sure_ she’s said the wrong thing, that he’s going to clam up again and she doesn’t know why.

“I like Annabel and Edgar.” It’s a strange opening sentence, but she’s heard stranger, so she keeps listening.

“I do. But I like being alone as well. And before I … before I died, I was alone as much as I wanted. And now they’re always there. And loud. So … I’m quiet.”

Lenore thinks he must be referring to a different Annabel and Edgar, if he’s referring to them as ‘loud’. But besides that, it does make sense. HG doesn’t thrive off the energy of others like she does – he barely thrives off his own energy – and she thinks he’d be perfectly content for the rest of eternity, locked away in a house by himself with only his machines for company. She wishes she would be there as well.

 

He glances quickly at Lenore, then back away again, as if steeling himself for his next sentence. “I usually like your company more than I like being alone.” He’s the one who’s unsure of himself now – as if vocalising that he didn’t want to spend _every_ waking minute (and they didn’t need to sleep, so there were a lot of waking minutes) by Lenore’s side, made him a terrible person.

“Usually,” she repeats, a smile in her voice and in her eyes, (and he knows he hasn’t said the wrong thing) pressing a quick kiss to his cheek.

“Now,” she continues, settling into the thick cushions, “We have time for one more, and I think we should watch the one with the furry green man.”

“One furry green man coming up,” HG allows, moving just enough to set up the next (and final) picture … thing.

(He had to find out the right name for these things.)

                *=*=*

They’re already setting the machine up to allow them to return to home after the second story finishes (Lenore prefers the first one, HG the second. Lenore predicts some fun arguments in their future), when there’s a clicking from the front of the house, and the door opens.

 

A second passes while HG tries to get the machine to disappear before they’re spotted in the house that they absolutely do not belong.

But they take too long, and the newcomer walks into the room, before stopping short – an expression on her face like her brain just gave up working.

 

She’s dressed strangely – a pair of blue trousers (on a _girl_ ) and a shirt emblazoned (somehow – Lenore really has to find out how, because that’s quite cool) with a picture of _Edgar’s face_ of all things (that’s less cool).

The girl’s eyes flick from HG to Lenore to the enormous machine occupying the majority of the room, and her keys drop from her hand to the floor.

 

“Um. Hi?” She glances behind her – as if she expects someone to be there – before returning her gaze to the pair of ghosts in front of her. She’s taking two strangers in her home rather calmly actually.

“This is a joke, right?” There’s an edge of manic to her voice, and she looks about to start a long (slightly crazed – judging from the frozen glint in her eyes) rant.

 

But there’s a beep from the machine and smoke fills the room, quickly and without warning.

And then they’re gone.


	21. Poe, Annabel, Lenore & HG - Christmas Market

It was jointly decided that the four should exchange Christmas gifts this year.

By ‘it was jointly decided’ – Annabel thought it would be a good idea, Edgar followed Annabel, Lenore thought it would be a good way to help her housemate’s fashion senses (she loves them. Their clothes, she loves less), and HG just went with the flow. Presents are always nice anyway.

 

Baking presents for each other was decided an … unwise decision, following Lenore and HG’s last attempt to create Christmas-y goodness in the kitchen (they were still finding flour in random places weeks later), and crafty ideas were discarded when Annabel dropped a knitting needle through the floor and it landed – point down – on Edgar’s head in the study below.

 

The market – or more specifically, the _Christmas Market_ – is jointly decided upon (again, if one is loose with the definition of ‘jointly’) as the perfect location for the four to obtain their presents, and they made their way to the Market Square the very next evening.

 

Now the four possess some extraordinary skills not available to the living populace – but the ability to purchase a _secret_ present for their companions, while said companions hover over their shoulder was unfortunately not one of them. So they separated, each to purchase their own gifts.

Edgar had been cautious of the idea – not wanting Annabel to wander around alone, especially in the dark. Or at least, he had been cautious until Lenore told him that (as the only still living member of their group) _he_ was the one in the most danger, that Annabel had lived in the area since before she died and knows it very well, and if Annabel hears him think that she cannot protect herself, that she (Annabel) would make him regret it. He wisely shut up about his reservations on splitting up.

(It also helped that HG had given them all devices that would shriek horrendously if a button was pressed – it was created accidentally while he was perfecting something else – and even now, it serves no purpose but to alleviate Edgar’s fears. He worries too much)

                *=*=*

The Christmas Market actually has a wider array of stalls than Lenore was expecting – and it takes her fifteen minutes to remember that she’s supposed to be shopping for the _other_ and not herself.

Although – she reasons – there’s no reason why it can’t be both.

And that is the reasoning behind the … excitingly coloured … scarf and hat set for Edgar, and the gentleman’s (intended for a small gentleman anyway) trousers for Annabel.

Contrary to popular belief – a larger number of decisions than you would think come about because Lenore thinks the outcome would be amusing, and she was slightly bored at the time.

And yes, she decided, looking at the final item, a small smirk on her face. HG’s present is definitely a gift to herself.

                *=*=*

It would be no surprise to anyone – least of all HG himself – that the very first stall he found himself drawn to, was one advertising a myriad of electronic devices and gadgets and doo-dads and things he didn’t even have names for.

They flashed and they beeped and they moved and they rolled, and he was entranced.

 

He buys four.

 

(One of them is absolutely being kept for himself).

                *=*=*

Annabel finds herself called to a craft stall (because of course she does, because she Annabel and she likes pretty handmade things even if they’re handmade by _other_ people).

There’s soaps and creams and candles and lotions of every scent and colour she could ever imagine; there’s knitted items, sown items, crocheted items, embroidered items. And that’s not even starting on the baked goods.

It’s almost too much to take in.

Almost.

Not quite.

 

The presents she chooses for her three friends are definitely the most appropriate gifts that any of them buy that evening.

Of course they are.

She’s Annabel Lee.

                *=*=*

Edgar had been fully intending to buy the three plain black scarves that he had noticed on the very first stall in front of him.

However, he got … distracted … when he spotted a pair of gloves that would be just _perfect_ for Annabel. Only there were two pairs that would be almost perfect for her. He does the sensible thing and buys them both.

It doesn’t get better after that.

Only after he purchases Annabel’s eighth gift (having completely forgotten he was supposed to buy gifts for anyone else as well) does he consider that maybe he’s going slightly overboard.

He buys a few more items for her, just be on the safe side though.

 

                *=*=*

Time passes quicker than they expect, and soon enough, the four have met up again – each with their individual bag of presents.

Annabel and HG have quite sensible, smaller bags – but judging from the satisfied smiles on their faces, they are pleased with what they have chosen for their friends.

Lenore’s bag is bigger, but it is very loosely filled. Edgar’s on the other hand …

The bag itself is slightly smaller than Lenore’s, but it’s nearly overflowing, bursting at the seams, already wrapped packages in a large variety of shapes and sizes.

He looks satisfied with his purchases as well, and it’s only when Lenore confirms that they all have everyone’s presents, and they are set to return home, that there’s a look on his face like he has suddenly forgotten something – and Lenore knows exactly what it is – hers and HG’s presents. Everything in that bag is for Annabel Lee, she would bet anything.

 

“Ah, right. Everyone. Of course.” No one believes him.


	22. Wellenore - Ice Skating

There’s only a handful of days left until Christmas when the temperature has (finally) been consistently low enough for the small (small being relative) pond to (finally) freeze over.

It’s large enough for two people to skate with ease, but if four people tried to skate at the same time, it would definitely be quite cramped (also four people might be too heavy for the poor pond).

And Lenore knows exactly who she’s going to get skating alongside her.

 

So she turns up at the edge of ‘his’ workspace with two pairs of ice skates (yes – one pair is Edgars, but he hasn’t used them in _literally forever_ , and he has no plans to use them soon, and HG is just … borrowing them.)

Or at least, he will be borrowing them just as soon as Lenore can convince him that this is a good idea.

 

He doesn’t think it’s a good idea.

He also doesn’t listen to her reasoning.

 

Ice Skating is fun. (No, it’s not)

You’re being boring. (I’m working.)

You work all the time. (I have a lot of work.)

You haven’t been outside in _forever_. (That’s not entirely true).

You haven’t even left your workshop in three days. (That … may be true. But I’m still working.)

_Edgar_ has been going outside more than you. (Good for him.)

She even tries batting her eyelids. (He just rolls his eyes and goes back to his work.)

 

Finally, it’s time to bring out the ‘Big Guns’. “I’ll send in Annabel and she’ll nice you outside.”

“Nice me outside?” He repeats, incredulous.

“Annabel Lee can get anyone to do _anything_ simply by being nice. It’s incredibly fortunate that she doesn’t use her powers for evil.” Lenore _sounds_ incredibly sure of herself, but there is a grin on her face that belays her seriousness.

 

He puts down the machine he had been tinkering with, and removes his goggles.

“Fine,” he acquiesces, but there’s a smile hidden on his face, and Lenore knows he wants to do this.

She _totally_ does not squeal in excitement.

 

(Okay – so she likes ice skating.)

(And it’s boring doing it by yourself year after year after year after year after …)

                *=*=*

Terrible is an understatement when it comes to HG’s ice skating skills.

 

He may be an actual genius, but dying did nothing to improve his ability to balance on very thin pieces of metal while slipping across ice.

It’s both amusing and slightly heart-breaking, watching him unable to stay upright for more than 30 seconds at a time.

 

But he refused her help, and until he decides he will accept her help once again, she can do nothing but skate (literal) circles around him, and hope he doesn’t hurt himself (too much).

(Also he’s a ghost, so the chance of perma-death or even perma-injury is _basically_ nothing.)

(She still worries a bit though.)

                *=*=*

He doesn’t give up though.

Long past the point where (definitely) Edgar and (maybe even) Annabel would have returned to The Indoors, HG is still trying to make significant movement on his skates.

 

And it’s working.

He can stay upright, and (sort of) go in a straight line.

Corners are difficult.

As is starting.

And stopping.

(He may have intentionally crashed into a tree – only once or twice – when he couldn’t figure out how to stop in time.)

 

Lenore isn’t helping to much with her skating forwards and backwards and sideways, and stopping and starting, and those twirls, and it really isn’t fair.

(But she has had a lot more practice.)

(And he’s still refusing her help.)

(She thinks it’s more out of sheer stubbornness than anything else at this point.)

(HG can be incredibly stubborn when he wants to.)

(She knows this from unfortunate experience.)

 

He does have to admit that ice skating is (at least a little bit) fun though.

(It’s more fun when he’s not falling over every ten seconds.)

(Ghosts may not be able to get cold, but their once-human selves can still imagine the cold.)

(It’s a disconcerting feeling when you _should_ be cold, but you’re _not_ , and you end up shivering anyway.)

 

And it has been a while since has done something unrelated to his work, something fun (and something outside).

And he’s getting better at skating, but only while he’s concentrating, and letting his mind wander, where-ever it may please, isn’t _exactly_ concentrating, and his skate hits a pebble.

 

It’s not the most terrible thing in the universe, but he definitely overbalances, and he grabs the closest thing to him to try and steady himself.

The ‘closest thing to him’ ends up being Lenore, and instead of keeping them both of their feet, he brings both of them falling (hard) to the ground (to the ice).

 

There’s a split second of shocked silence, before laughter takes over – led by Lenore laughing at the mortified expression on HG’s face.

She helps him to his feet, and they set off again.


	23. Edgar - Christmas is Cancelled

Edgar Allan Poe would not describe himself as a pessimist.

* * *

 

When he was a child, he often uttered the phrase, “What could go wrong?”

This phrase was often followed by everything and anything in his vicinity to go dreadfully, horribly wrong.

He stopped saying the phrase, “What could go wrong?”

Apparently the universe liked to challenge itself.

* * *

It’s about three days before Christmas when he muses – maybe we just shouldn’t do Christmas this year.

 

This is after the presents have been bought and wrapped, food has been bought for an elaborate dinner, the house has been decorated (inside and out) for almost a month, and Annabel has talked of hardly anything but the upcoming festivities for almost a week.

 

But maybe they should just cancel Christmas this year.

Maybe that would be better.

 

Because what if – for example – all the presents are wrong?

And _nobody_ gets _anything_ they like, and everyone just glares at everyone else for three hours because nobody knows anybody in this house, wouldn’t it be better if nobody got any presents at all? At least that way nobody would be hated.

 

And then because everyone is unhappy, they’re all petty all morning, and they make _comments_ , and they give _glances_ and everyone knows what it means but no one will admit it because they’re all unhappy.

 

And then Christmas dinner comes along, and the turkey is dry and the vegetables are so overcooked they are literally black, and the potatoes are so undercooked they are technically still raw, and the stuffing could probably double up as a brick, and there is _no dessert_. At all.

 

And Edgar’s trying to be helpful but he pours soup in Annabel’s lap, and he drops the potatoes on HG’s head, and he sticks his elbow in Lenore’s (one perfect dish of) cranberry sauce, and he really isn’t helping at all.

 

But the oven had been left on in the kitchen, and all too soon there is smoke billowing in on them, and they have to leave.

Only the lights in the living room have sparked a fire on the tree and that way isn’t safe either.

 

And they make it outside, but only barely, and just inside to watch the house collapse in on itself – the once proud building reduced to a pile of rubble.

Which is unfortunate, because HG had been experimenting with fireworks up in his workshop, and the collapse triggers them to explode, and set off screaming towards the nearby town.

 

Where they (of course) land in the giant tree in the town square, and immediately set it ablaze.

The town is engulfed before most people can do anything, and the people who remain just run away as fast and as far as they can.

 

And somehow that triggers another series of events, and then there’s this whole chain reaction, and THEN THE WORLD EXPLODES.

 

AND EVERYONE DIES.

* * *

 Or maybe that doesn’t happen and they have a wonderful Christmas and they exchange presents and they have a cosy evening inside by the fire, and nothing will go wrong.

* * *

 Okay, so on reflection, perhaps Edgar Allan Poe _should_ describe himself as a pessimist.


	24. Poe, Annabel, Lenore & HG - Leaving Presents Under the Tree

Twas the night before Christmas and all through the house, not a creature was stirring – not even a mouse.

 

Well – as long as you didn’t count three insomniac ghosts and their weird living friend as ‘creatures’.

Because they were definitely stirring.

 

You see, it was the night before Christmas, and still no presents had been placed in the customary position of under the tree.

And they all wanted them to be there on Christmas morning, and time was rather running short.

 

Why they all couldn’t just bring down their presents and place them under the tree like normal, well-adjusted human beings baffles this author, but they were not normal well-adjusted human beings (most of them weren’t even human any more – what with being dead and all), and they all wanted to place their gifts under the tree _secretly_.

Because it’s not like they all wrapped their gifts differently, and wrote on the tags who the present was for and who is was from.

Because that would be too _normal_ for the Poe household.

Idiots.

The lot of them.

 

Of course it goes terribly (hilariously) wrong.

Did you really expect anything else?

 

Poe – being human and still needing to sleep occasionally – is the first one to bring down his presents.

A small envelope sized present each for Lenore and HG, and a veritable sack full of gifts for the beautiful Annabel Lee. It was totally fair.

(Shut up, it was.)

The fact that he walked straight into the fireplace, swore quite loudly and then nearly impaled himself on the poker didn’t really help him remain hidden.

Annabel and HG hurry in to see what’s wrong, and Lenore saunters behind them to laugh at his misfortune, and that’s how he gets caught at 11pm.

 

It’s not even slightly a secret when HG takes down his presents at 2am. He trips on a fold of carpet and goes tumbling down the stairs headfirst.

Fortunately, he’s a ghost and so remained unhurt. Also fortunately, his gifts are all sturdy and remained unbroken even after their sudden trip.

Less fortunately, three heads appear in the hallway above him – having been alerted by the sudden and loud noise – and his weren’t a secret anymore.

 

Annabel almost gets away with placing her presents unseen – she made it down the stairs and into the main room unnoticed, and had she simply left immediately, she would have gotten away unseen.

But Annabel is _nice_ , and _sweet_ , and _good_ , and the presents … aren’t arranged in a way that is aesthetically pleasing, and she has to fix it.

And that is how Poe wanders in on her making the display more _pleasing_ at 4am, when he went into the wrong room in search of the kitchen.

(It happens.)

(It’s a big house, and he was still mostly asleep.)

 

No one’s quite sure how Lenore’s gifts get around the tree. They’re not there when Annabel takes her presents down, but they are when they all emerge the next morning – despite Lenore having apparently never left her room. When she’s questioned about it – from all three – she just smiles enigmatically, takes a sip of her drink (it’s Christmas – the one day a year nobody frowns at you for drinking alcohol before breakfast) and simply says, “Can’t a girl have her secrets?”

 

And she can – because no one ever found out how Lenore’s gifts got around the tree.

(Not even when HG asked _really_ nicely.)


	25. Poe, Annabel, Lenore & HG - Christmas Day

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Can you believe this is over?  
> I can't!!  
> Thank you everyone for reading and commenting and kudos-ing this, I literally could not have finished it without you.  
> Here is the last chapter of my first completed multi-chapter fic in like three years.
> 
> Enjoy!!

Considering that it was their first Christmas as a household of four, and the hilarious disaster of the previous few days – Edgar being responsible for an unnecessary amount of it – Christmas went incredibly well that morning.

 

Annabel had shaken her head slightly when she saw the disparity between her gifts and that of the others – but all three knew Edgar meant well, and he’s just really weird, and no good would come of mentioning the difference (at least twice as many gifts, possibly three times as many. Does Edgar have _any_ self-control?)

(The answer, of course – is “Not when Annabel isn’t around.”)

So they just pretended they didn’t notice.

(Edgar believes it.)

(Of course he does.)

 

Nobody’s quite sure what HG has gifted them, but he seems happy and they don’t seem evil – so everyone takes it in good spirits.

Annabel and Lenore’s gifts are the most apt for each person, chosen specifically for their tastes and … eccentricities. And they know each other _very_ well.

(Too well, if you ask Lenore. There are some things she does _not_ need to know.)

(And if the tips of HG’s ears turn slightly pink when he realises exactly what Lenore has bought him, well that’s entirely his own business.)

(His and Lenore’s, that is.)

 

Edgar convinces them all to play a board game in the late morning – sure that it will be a ‘good way to bond’.

(He glances at Annabel after he finishes speaking, and she nods – as if to say, ‘yes, that’s right’)

It nearly ends in a quadruple murder.

(And three of them are already dead, so it really _would_ be a tragedy.)

 

The Christmas meal comes next, and they’re mostly over hating each other by the time the desserts are served.

HG’s ‘traditional Christmas pudding’ is ignored (even by HG himself) in favour of Lenore’s chocolate cake, and by the time the four finish eating, they have consumed what feels like three times their body weight and feel like the need a good nap before they’ll be of any use to anymore.

(That’s always the sign of a good meal.)

 

The “quiet walk through the grounds” that turns into the “Epic Snowball Fight of the Season,” is also the sign of a good time.

 

The day ends quietly.

There are curled up in amiable silence in the main room.

There’s a warm fire flickering in the fireplace and they’re all reading or writing, and if they ate or drank another drop, another morsel – it’s possible they may just explode.

 

And they may all be dead or (in Edgar’s case) so weird they may as well be dead, what with the way everyone outside of the house goes out of their way to avoid him and his house.

But they’re happy and they’re safe and they’re completely and utterly in love and it’s … it’s good.

 

It’s been a good day.

And it's not over yet.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!  
> Please kudos and comment - including ideas for future chapters if you have any,  
> Mia


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